


A Silver Storm

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Anastasia (1997), Marvel
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, canon fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9197705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: Anastasia and Dmitri couldn't live in Paris, so Natalia and James would have to do. At least it was far more fun to be in the present than the past.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elithien](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=elithien).



> Written for [elithien](http://elithien.tumblr.com/) as part of the 2016 Buckynat Secret Santa hosted [on Tumblr.](http://fuckyeahbuckynatasha.tumblr.com/) When I saw that I had gotten you, I admit that I flailed as badly as Kermit the Frog does, because I _adore_ your art. No pressure, right? But we have very similar interests in fic, so hopefully you enjoy this story as much as I had fun writing it for you!

Natalia stood in front of the window to the small Paris apartment, the shades drawn back so that she could watch the snow falling down. It was thick and fast, large and fluffy flakes drifting to the ground. Everything was painted silver and white, and the setting sun tinged everything with sparkles. It felt like magic, even though she knew most of the Parisian intelligentsia would deny that it existed. Being Russian, or at least formerly Russian, Natalia knew that magic existed. It had been in the very land, in the people, in the air. She didn't have the same sense about Paris, but it would likely be just a matter of time before she learned the city as well as she had known the Russian countryside around the orphanage she had grown up in.

She had been Anya once, and Anastasia before that. A Grand Duchess, even if the throne no longer existed. She had been any number of other people, putting on roles like clothing, discarding them when they no longer fit. Dmitri sometimes liked to think that he had taught her that trick, but she had learned it long before she had met him. He had simply refined the technique and gave her new tricks to really inhabit the people she was supposed to be.

Dmitri went by James now; it was easier for him to pose as an American expat than it was for her at this point, though they practiced her English daily to rid her of the thick Russian accent. There were so many Russian expats in Paris, all trying to claim Romanov heritage, all pawning jewels and silver they claimed had come from the royal house.

Her hand instinctively went to her necklace, to the key she had protected before she had even learned its meaning. _Together in Paris_ now held so many different meanings.

Strong arms encircled her, and a chin dropped down onto her shoulder. Natalia felt the beginnings of stubble rasp against her nightgown strap and skin, and she lifted her hands from her necklace to the muscled arms. "James."

His laughter rumbled through her. "Feeling nostalgic, are you?"

"How can you guess?"

"We Russians, we always have our winter."

Natalia smiled and took in the snowy landscape in front of them. "I used to dream of this, you know. Before I even knew you. Snow like a silver storm, someone holds me safe and warm, feeling loved..."

James kissed her neck. "Oh, yes, you're so very loved."

"This is what I wanted, more than any name. This is what I remember of family."

He nuzzled her ear next. "Really? Because I remember you telling me something completely different when we were training you to be Anastasia," he teased. She could hear the smile in his voice, and she spun around in his arms to see it for herself.

"You're so mean sometimes, James," she responded, grin on her face.

"Am I?" he said, head tipping back in mock offense. His hair was a little too long and shaggy, a dark mop that nearly covered his blue eyes. She would have to cut it soon, but she loved the feel of the strands between her fingers. Not yet. When the weather warmed, then.

"So very mean," she said solemnly, nodding once. Then her lips curled into a smile, belying the words. "So much to memorize. Names and places, dates and details about inconsequential things. As if it would be so terrible if I couldn't remember the silly carpet pattern."

James' fingers trailed down her back, the touch of his left arm a bit harder than he likely intended. After fighting their way free of the past, both had found jobs in Paris. She worked to clean homes and James found work in a bakery. It allowed them to augment their meager table with things that couldn't sell, but an accident also left most of his left arm scarred and difficult to move. He lost much of his fine motor skills, but he refused to think of himself as broken. It helped that Natalia didn't see him that way.

His right hand circled down to her hip, pulling up the nightgown a bit. "What else do you remember of that time, hm?" His voice had taken on a husky note, sending a shiver down her spine. That made him grin and lean in. "I think you remember something after all."

"Memory is such a tricky thing..."

"Faded. Lost with time." The grin turned sensual. "I'm going to have to remind you, then."

Natalia lofted an eyebrow at him. "Think you're up to the job?"

"Always."

"As if you could really handle me," she scoffed playfully, just as she had when they were in training. They had bickered so much then, resisting the attraction between them. It had been easier to think of him as nothing more than a conman and she was simply an orphan playing a role she desperately wanted to be real.

And then it was.

Dmitri had twirled her in a circle as he taught her the courtly dances, his hand firm on the small of her back. It had sent her heart racing, breath caught in her throat, and she thought so many inappropriate things about him. He had done the same about her, his lips parted as he drank in the sight of her. When they were alone, he had chanced a kiss, knowing that it could very well disrupt their mission. "But I don't care," he had growled once against her mouth, hands cupping her breasts through her thin dress. "I know we shouldn't, I know you're promised to become another woman. But I want the woman you are now. I want Anya."

So she had kissed him, damn the consequences. How long had she waited to hear words like that? Her kiss had taken him by surprise, her boundless enthusiasm in this as with everything else she sought out. She wasn't a complete idiot about lovemaking and sex, even without any practical experience of her own, and Dmitri was left to teach her about passion as well as life that the Grand Duchess Anastasia had led.

Linking her fingers through his, Anya had given him a shy but eager grin, then pulled the ribbon out of her hair with her free hand. He let go of her hand long enough to run his fingers through her red tresses, then helped her peel out of her layers. He kissed and stroked whatever skin that was exposed, and she was just as eager to pull off his clothes and touch his skin. There was the newness of the sensation, skin on skin and the chill air around them. Then his mouth fixed on a breast, suckling her, and Anya clutched Dmitri close. Her breath caught, short gasps as his hands roamed over her body. It felt like he lit a match inside her skin, a fire bursting through her and creating a fever in her blood.

She cried out when his mouth left her breast, but he only suckled the other one and ran his hands down her back to cup her ass. Anya needed his touch, needed his mouth, and she whimpered when his teeth lightly grazed the sensitive peak. "Oh. That's... I like that," she gasped.

His wicked, sultry grin was only heightened by the kiss swollen lips. What right did he have to look so damn pretty? Saying the words aloud made him laugh, and then he carefully laid her down on their strewn mass of clothes.

Anya was nervous, but he kissed his way between her thighs and then licked into her with a fervor she hadn't known was possible. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation of him, his mouth and then his fingers, her moans, the soft and silky feel of his hair in her hands when she reached down to keep him in place. The pleasure built, and when it crashed, she lay beneath him gasping for breath. "God, you're gorgeous," he had said reverently, looking at her with a rapt expression she had never seen before. His manhood jutted out, but Anya had lost all of her prior nervousness. It didn't matter to him that she had no practical experience, just that she was who she was. He wanted _her,_ not who she could pretend to be.

A heady and intoxicating feeling, to be sure.

So she grasped his cock and tugged gently, trying to flash him a coy smile. "This belongs to me, doesn't it?" At his startled nod, she grinned. "Then you'd better get around to using it."

It started out awkward but got better as Anya got the hang of it. Getting on top of Dmitri helped, because she could touch him and watch how he responded to her swiveling her hips. There was a spot that almost felt blindingly good, her breath catching and all thoughts ending. But Dmitri spasmed and fell back onto the floor, gasping for air, and that beautiful sensation was gone. He'd grinned sheepishly at her and apologized, promising to make it up to her.

They hid, of course they did, odd corners in the market and the abandoned houses that they stayed in. There was the thrill of the illicit, of Dmitri pushing her up against the wall and lifting her skirt, scrabbling at her underclothes to push it aside and plunge his fingers into her. He knew how to part her folds and rub at her clit until she gasped and writhed in his grasp. His mouth on top of hers swallowed up her cries, and she clawed at his back through his clothes, grasping at him and begging him without words to take her hard and fast. All they had was the emotion, the desire, the raw need coursing through them.

Meeting her grandmother had been bittersweet, because Anya had feared that she would lose Dmitri in the process. The thought that it had all been about the payout had been painful, a betrayal that made her soul ache. It would have been easy for her grandmother to keep it a secret, to let her be Anastasia and process the grief. But then, her grandmother knew about love and loss and grief, and loved Anastasia dearly. She didn't need the glitter and glamour, just a granddaughter that was alive and happy.

Having the wealthy and powerful behind her meant that Anya easily became Natalia and Dmitri became James. It meant that his injuries, however severe, weren't fatal, and that they were comfortable in the life of their choosing.

She chose him. He chose her. They knew each other, inside and out, and their histories, tangled as they had been before, now were a tight web bound together.

James pushed her gently, backing her up against the window. There wasn't anything other than thin sheets in place as curtains, so Natalia could feel the chill of the winter. The frigid air made her shiver, but she still smiled at James. "Planning to give our neighbors a show?"

He snorted but grinned as he put his hand around the back of her neck and leaned in to kiss her. "No. All the respectable Parisians are tucked up in their beds right now."

"And we're not in bed..."

"Exactly."

Shifting to press her weight against the glass, James kissed her again, tongue sliding into her mouth. One arm wrapped around his muscular shoulders, and the other reached out so that she could catch the window frame for balance. The cheap sheet was twisted up in her grasp, and as she twisted so that she could hook a leg around his waist, her grip on the frame slipped because of the sheet. She wound up sliding down the wall, pulling the sheet down with her. Leaning against her, James fell also.

They landed on the floor, torn sheet fluttering down on top of them. Natalia stared at James for a moment, then looked back up to the window. She burst out laughing, and then reached up to grasp the sheet, playfully wrapping it around the top of his head. "This time _you_ get a veil, James," she teased.

He swatted it away and then landed on top of her. "Why does everyone else think you're so innocent again?"

Natalia smiled sweetly at him and batted her lashes. "Who, me? How could I ever do something devious? I'm just an innocent little Russian expat."

James snorted and positioned himself over her sprawled body. "Not so innocent, darling."

"If others think so..."

"We know different."

She hooked a hand behind his veiled head and pulled him down. She kissed him as if the world was ending, as if this kiss would have to carry them through the ages. Her tongue slid along the seam of his lips, dipped between them to slide into his mouth. Her other hand slipped beneath the sheet and pulled at his loose clothing to slide against his skin. All she had was her thin nightgown, and that rode up as soon as she lifted her knees. It allowed James to settle his weight between them, to rub his groin against hers.

So close, yet so far from what she wanted.

Pulling at his clothes, Natalia growled against his mouth. He laughed, knowing exactly why she was so impatient, and shifted his weight long enough to pull off his shirt and sleep pants. Gloriously naked now, she grinned and ran her hands over his body before pulling him down on top of her again. James had shifted his weight so that he could slide one hand down her thigh, pushing her nightgown further up so that he could finger her. "Mmmm. Nice," she murmured.

"Let's see if I can make you scream this time," he said, lowering himself down a little further so that they could kiss again.

He knew just where to stroke her, where to slide his fingers to gather up her slick moisture. It made it easier to rub her clit, to flick it and make her gasp and writhe in pleasure. James was patient, so patient, working her this way until she was breathless, hands spasming on his shoulders or hips as she stroked his back. She arched her back, breaking their kiss to gasp for air, baring her neck to him. Of course James couldn't resist and leaned down to kiss her there again, licking at her skin and making her shiver. He sucked at her skin, knowing if he kept at it long enough she would have to wear a scarf to work to cover the bruise.

They liked marking their territory, though. He kissed his way along her body, she raked her nails down his back or grasped him hard enough to bruise when she rode him hard.

Natalia tried to drop her head and look at James, but she caught sight of the snowstorm through the window, the silvery flakes bright against the dark backdrop of night. "It's beautiful," she said softly, then reached down to grasp James' ass. "You're beautiful, too."

He gave her a rakish grin, her favorite kind, and then ducked his head down to suckle a breast as he pumped his fingers inside of her. She sighed in pleasure, eyes falling shut. She could still see the falling snow in her mind, couldn't help but link the sight of it to the snowy roads she walked through to get to Moscow, the endless drifts that she had waded through before meeting him. All that drama, and she finally found the life that she wanted.

"Ah, мой милый, you're perfect."

"Not really, no," he murmured, lifting his head. His smile was fond and rueful. "But then, you're the only one that would understand that."

"You're perfect _for me."_

"Oh. Well, yeah," he agreed, then leaned down to kiss her again, positioning himself over her. "I love you."

She reached up to cup his face in her hands. "And I love you."

The feel of him sliding into her was utter perfection, and she grinned. "Yes," she murmured, sliding her hands down his back. "Just like this."

He moved slowly at first, taunting them both, and then had to pick up the pace. James couldn't torture her for long, not when he wanted her just as badly, not when the feel of her affected him just as much. He gasped and grunted, blue eyes bright and intense as he stared down at her, moving as if his very life depended upon it. Natalia lifted her hips, meeting his thrusts, groaning in pleasure. Hooking her legs around his waist, she panted with every breath, urging him to go faster, pump harder, give her more. She ran her hands up and down his back, curling her fingers and lightly raking the skin as she tightened around him. Her pants were almost like begging, pleading to keep that up, to keep going, give her more like that—

Pleasure flowed through her, vision splintering as she came. It was almost like the snowfall outside, white spots against the black behind her eyelids, calm and peaceful. When James finished with a grunt, he slowed and lowered himself down on top of her. He was careful to keep most of his weight off of her, but she liked the feel of him there. Natalia felt comforted, safe and warm. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight.

"Think we should take it to the bed?" he asked after a moment.

"Mmm. More comfy than the floor." She opened her eyes and grinned at him. "Carry me."

James snorted and shook his head ruefully. "What a princess you are."

Natalia laughed and batted her lashes playfully at him. "Naturally. And you're going to do as I say, right?"

He untangled himself from her, then swept her up in his arms, the torn sheet twisted around them both. "I suppose. If I have to."

"You have to," she replied promptly, eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Yes, your royal highness," he said with a mocking tone, lips curled into a fond grin. James easily carried her to their bed, and deposited her gently in the very center of it. He crawled in beside her, piling sheets and comforters over them both. She burrowed into his warmth, arms and a leg wrapping around him.

They drifted off into a deep sleep, the snow continuing to fall outside.

The End


End file.
